


3am

by TsarinaTorment



Series: Fluffember [1]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: (except it's a sofa), Family, Fluff, Fluffember 2020, Gen, Platonic Cuddling, Sharing a Bed, fluffember, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27338758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment
Summary: A desire for water in the early hours of the morning leads Sally Tracy to a revelation.
Relationships: Grandma Tracy & Scott Tracy, Scott Tracy & John Tracy
Series: Fluffember [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996258
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	3am

**Author's Note:**

> Giving #fluffember a go! None of these offerings are going to be particularly long - this is the first thing I've written in well over a month, so a lot of getting my head back in the game here - and nor can I promise how many prompts I'll answer.
> 
> This follows the prompt for day one: 'Bedtime'.

_And what time do you call this, young man?_

The words were on the tip of Sally's tongue, but died unspoken at the sight before her. She'd come downstairs for a glass of water, something to wet her throat after waking up in the early hours parched, but found herself diverted by a silhouette in the den, backlit by what had to be the desk's holoprojector. At gone three in the morning, with all her earthbound boys home safe with no rescues to be attended to, there was no reason for anyone to be up.

It was, of course, Scott. It was always Scott, working himself past his limits to hold everything else together, and the words of a grandmother fell on deaf ears on this particular topic, just like everything else. Alan's puppy dog eyes, Gordon's pranks, Virgil's voice of reason, Kayo's threats… none of it worked. She wasn't sure John had even bothered to try for years, although whether that was because he truly believed Scott was a lost cause, or just because he had no intentions of being called out for hypocrisy, Sally wasn't entirely sure.

Still, it was not the inevitable futility of the conversation that killed the words before they were voiced. Sally was a Tracy, too, if only by marriage. Giving up wasn't in her vocabulary, either. It might be a case of unstoppable force meeting immovable object, but it would not last forever.

What stayed the sharpness of her tongue, untempered by the unearthly hour, was that the silhouette was not _at_ the desk, per her initial assumption. Nor was it made up of a single body, but rather two, intertwined in a way rarely witnessed. Even as children, sharing a bedroom, it had been an unusual sight to see – although not unheard of – but as adults it was scarcer than a blue moon, and not just because one of them was rarely on the planet.

She knew that sometimes John came down in the middle of the night. They all did, often pleasantly surprised by the smell of pancakes for breakfast when no-one capable of making them _just right_ had been on Earth the night before. Like his beloved space, John was silent when he wanted to be. The space elevator couldn't be heard descending from the main house, and the villa was large enough that his gravity-induced stumbles had to be truly disastrous to be audible from the bedrooms.

He never gave a reason for his unscheduled returns, and they'd long since stopped asking, but tonight, Sally had no need to wonder. Not when, lit by the faint glow of the holoprojector, her eldest two grandsons were curled up on a sofa together, a soft throw slipping from their laps.

John wasn't often one for physical contact, never had been, but that didn't mean he always held himself at a distance, and with his big brother idle touches were tolerated more than most. Tonight it was less idle touches, and more two young men reminding themselves and each other that their self-imposed burden of the world's safety was one to be shared.

Scott's head was on John's shoulder, the ginger's cheek in turn on top of his head – petty sibling quarrels about which brother was taller clearly considered irrelevant tonight – while John had a single leg thrown over Scott's lap and the other bunched up beneath him. Hands gripped at each other loosely, grounding but not restrictive, and what had been gearing up for a disappointed frown on Sally's face instead manifested as a soft smile.

Maybe she was wrong, she mused as she readjusted the throw to cover them both properly. Maybe John hadn't given up on trying to convince Scott to rest after all.

Silently, she left the sleeping young men and padded over to the desk, turning off the holoprojector before continuing her initial journey to the kitchen for a glass of water with a single, fond, backwards glance.

Maybe John was the only one that had found a way to succeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Tsari


End file.
